Guns, Xanax and Champagne
by Roar-ra
Summary: The wedding planner realizes she's out of Xanex. She took the last one after walking in on the groom's party organizing a kidnapping raid an hour ago. Suddenly the 'how to neutralize hot assassin' checklist that crazy billionaire was writing on the wall IN ICING! makes more sense.
1. Chapter 1

**Guns, Xanex and Champagne**

* * *

"You can't wear a gun under that dress!" The horrified squawk rebounds off the elegantly draped walls of The Waldorf Astoria.

"I've hidden significantly larger-caliber weapons under considerably less material." Natasha Romanov smoothes the midnight blue silk over her impressive curves. "See, no lines."

"But... but... that's not the point. Bridesmaids don't carry guns!"

She stares flatly at the overwrought woman wrapped in a bundle of pink of taffeta and lace. "If you can take it from me, you can have it."

The flustered woman makes a strangled sound and turns to the other bridesmaid. "Can you talk some sense into her?"

"Awesome! Can you do that for my taser too?"

The hotel's wedding planner opens her oversized handbag, rummaging for her emergency stash of Xanex.

"Sorry, Darcy, it's a custom piece."

The small brunette shrugs. "Oh well, that's why god created handbags." She drops the device into a satin clutch.

The spy makes a mental update to her Christmas list: one custom taser holster.

The wedding planner realizes she's out of Xanex. She took the last one after walking in on the groom's party organizing a kidnapping raid an hour ago. Suddenly the 'how to neutralize hot assassin' checklist that crazy billionaire was writing on the wall (IN ICING!) makes more sense. Thankfully, she managed to convince the men to leave the groom's traditions for the next wedding with HIS people. Given the insanity of the groomsmen... Perhaps she shouldn't begrudge the redhead her weapon.

Natasha glances at mirror again. She wishes she were wearing a suit with the rest of the guys; it's much easier to hide weaponry under a jacket.

But how could she refuse Thor's deep, pleading voice. _"Lady Natasha, please. My Jane doesn't have many acquaintances of the female persuasion, I have five warriors standing for me, and she has… Darcy."_

The assassin spins to ensure her arsenal is hidden from every angle. The long flowing strapless silk gown manages to hide a good deal of weaponry (with some minor modifications.) Thank goodness the wedding coordinator didn't catch a glimpse of the slim blades she had built into the bodice, or the backup gun, or the throwing knives, or the garrote woven into her hair… The high leg baring slit up the right side will ensure a quick draw for most of the arsenal. Her shoes, Christian Louboutin's are a work of art, the hollowed out right heel contains a paralytic serum, left heel an undetectable poison, decorative ankle straps have been modified to become handcuffs on a moment's notice.

Not that she _plans_ for trouble, but it's a reasonable expectation that when you have the Avengers, dozens of SHIELD's top agents, a handful of the world's top scientists, and demigods… Add champagne and dancing; significant weaponry seems prudent. And that's assuming the wedding _isn't _crashed by one of the hundreds of archnemesis the wedding party and guests have between them.

Natasha wonders if leaving the tear gas at home was a bad idea.

Darcy wonders if the taser will work through the silk of her clutch. She has to zap Thor at least one more time before the honeymoon… for old times sake.

The wedding planner wonders if she has more Xanex in her car.

Finis

* * *

Authors Note: Yes, I am a review whore, they make me happy and keep my fingers tapping This will probably become a series, as I'm already coming up with terrible things to do to all of our favorite superheroes. This is far to fluffy, gotta keep up my angst cred.

Thanks to DJ Liopleurodon for a fabu beta as always (a good person to know when you need plural for arch nemesis, or a good understanding of anti anxiety vs depression drugs)


	2. Chapter 2

The bridal party waits at the entrance for their musical cue.

Natasha catches her Clint looking at her, she can tell he's trying to figure out what she's hiding under the dress and where. She gives him a small smile. "I love weddings."

The wedding planner looks up, surprised. The redhead has obviously redeemed herself in the woman's mind.

Clint smirks back at her. "I know."

"It's so easy blend in with a crowd of gowns and suits..."

"So many strangers... you can never know everyone."

"Targets who NEVER leave their compounds show up."

"Slipping in as a caterer-"

"Or Priest."

"I'm still amazed how often you got hit on wearing that cassock."

"An open bar makes men much more loose lipped."

"As do beautiful women in gowns."

"And high ceilings, great vantages for sniping-"

"So much champagne, floating around-"

"So easy to spike."

"Easy to make it look like you're just helping a drunk into their car."

"Easy to take out a waiting chauffeur."

"Total?"

"25."

"74."

"Shit."

"What can I say, Barton. I look good in a dress."

The two predators gaze into each other's eyes, smiling.

Tony gives a low whistle. "You two have the most fucked up version of foreplay I've ever encountered."

"Screw foreplay, I think that WAS sex. I need a cigarette." Darcy turns to the wedding planner. "Come on, admit it, that was hot."

Cap blushes at the intimacy of the moment.

The wedding planner looks green.

The music begins.

Super science bro's Tony Stark and Bruce Banner escort Darcy up the aisle. Tony looks like something out of GQ, the James Bond edition. Bruce looks uncomfortable in a tux so wrinkled it appears he slept in it, despite the wedding lady repeatedly attacking him with a steam iron all day.

Clint and Steve each offer Natasha an arm as the wedding planner hisses "Right foot first." As they begin the processional down the ivory draped walkway, she discretely glances at the men on her arms. Clint's tux drapes beautifully from his muscular shoulders; he knows how to wear a monkey suit well, even if he's always going to prefer combat fatigues. Cap looks so perfect he looks like he belongs on the top of a wedding cake. The spy smirks internally at the thought. Steve will probably be the next to get hitched, if he can ever get up the nerve to speak to a girl. He'll want to put a ring on the lucky creature inside of a month.

The trios separate and move to their assigned sides at the front of the church. As instructed, the men hold one hand over the wrist of the other arm when they reach the front, the women hold both hands around violet bouquets. The wedding coordinator had seemed to thin that not a single member of the bridal party could be trusted not to pick their noses, twiddle their thumbs, violate the Geneva conventions, sign dirty ASL messages and/or start an intergalactic dispute if allowed freedom of movement with their hands.

The music changes. Everyone stands. There is no flower girl, despite Tony's pleas to let him reprogram dummy and dress it in taffeta, carrying a rose petal-shooting fire extinguisher.

Jane Foster is a vision in white. Her slight frame is draped in layer upon layer of gossamer fabric, forming a figure-hugging grecian gown held in place by gems that sparkle with unearthly radiance (Thor had to assure Tony and Bruce that the jewels from his home world are NOT radioactive; Tony stole the dress and tested it anyway. Natasha got it back and programmed Jarvis to end every sentence with "_You fucking thief, sir_." for a week.) Loose brown hair the shy scientist normally hides behind is pulled away from her face with a diadem of more unearthly gems, revealing how striking beautiful Jane Foster really is.

Thor looks like he's been hit squarely between the eyes by Mjolnir as he watches his bride approach. He doesn't need his hair pulled back or two hours of makeup to be a vision equal to Jane, he glows with pride as he watches her.

The ceremony is beautiful and mercifully quick, no ornate kneeling or recitations involved. Natasha does not dare hope the Asguardian one will be nearly as simple. Vows are exchanged, rings are given and Tony Stark lets out a very unmanly sniffle that he'll swear to his dying day was the result of an oncoming cold.

Thor and Jane are presented as man and wife. Natasha let's out a sigh of relief. Odds of an arch-villan crashing the wedding have now gone down 63%.


	3. Chapter 3

**Guns, Champagne and Xanax**

_Part 3: Reception_

The band plays, singers croon and the champagne has been flowing for long enough that dance floor is halfway full - mostly with rhythm-challenged geniuses and few demi-gods.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen sit around a large circular table, with the exception of Bruce and Darcy, who, against all odds, have hit it off beautifully and are currently swaying on the dance floor. Darcy's eyes sparkle with mischief and pleasure, while Bruce looks down at the little brunette in his arms as though he's still not quite sure she's real. Tony glowers at the couple over his martini.

"Bro's before taser happy co-eds, Tony." Clint's voice is soft, but serious.

Tony tries to look innocent, failing horribly. "Whatever do you mean?"

Natasha looks at him levelly. "He means do NOT cock-block your lab partner just because you're afraid he might get a life and spend a couple less hours nerding out with you."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about... But you've got to admit, they're not really a good fit, even if she _does_ have a great rack. Do you think I could convince Pepper to give a threesome a try? I'm sure Bruce won't mind if I go introduce-"

Natasha smiles, her voice honey-sweet. "Remember not-so-long ago when you asked me to stop injecting you with unknown substances and doing horrible things to you…"

"Ah, the good old '_Is this martini dirty enough for you_' days." His voice is dreamy with the recollection.

The smile flattens and the honey turns to ice. "If you attempt to disrupt those two, I promise, this time I _will_ tranq you and sell your kidney." Tony starts to laugh, then freezes as she pushes the heel of her shoe into the meat of his inner thigh under the tablecloth, he can feel the syringe through the tux. "I swear, Tony, you will end up, drugged, bleeding, and propped up against the blue dumpster three blocks from here where no one will find you for the next 48 hours."

Tony expression shifts from horror to arousal, terror, and then suddenly becoming unnaturally solemn. "You're never going to try and seduce me again, are you?" His voice is tinged sorrow.

"If I wanted a volatile, powerful man, who could be mistaken for my father, I'd be fucking Fury."

Out of corner of his eye, Clint sees Maria Hill do a spit take directly into Nick Fury's face. The director wipes champagne off his eye patch with remarkable aplomb. Clint shakes his head and wonders when Maria picked up lip reading. The archer rises and holds out a hand to his partner. "Stop torturing Tony for a few minutes, Tash." He pulls the redhead out onto the dance floor and she shoots Tony one last warning glance.

As if Tony's ego couldn't get any more bruised, a familiar blonde appears from the crowd. He tries to look elsewhere, but it's hard, mostly because the fetching reporter is showing a mile of leg... and, well, that's the only reason his eyes need to be glued to her thighs.

"Tony!" He smiles deprecatingly, trying to come up with a graceful exit.

She brushes past him and places herself directly in front of Steve Rogers. "Why don't you introduce me to your friend?"

Tony let's out a fake sneeze. "Aaahstarfucker."

The reporter glares at Tony, then shifts an adoring gaze up at the taller man. Steve shyly puts out his hand, but she takes it and hugs him instead. "Thank you for everything you've done for New York and its citizens." She gestures towards the dance floor. "Come on Captain, dance with me."

Steve hesitates for a fraction of a second, and she takes this for ascent, grabbing his hand and pulling him forcefully to the floor, wrapping herself around him like lithe python. Steve's eyes franticly search out Clint and Natasha, pleading. The blonde molds herself to his body, he looks to the duo, eyes clearly saying '_help me_!'

Natasha restrains a sigh as she realizes the problem; Steve doesn't know how to dance and is too embarrassed to break away, not wanting to leave her stranded on the dance floor.

"Hey Cap, sorry to interrupt, but you promised Tasha the next dance, remember?"

Clint has taken pity on him. The archer pulls the blonde away, gently, offering to introduce her to Nick Fury, the power behind the Avengers. The lure is too much for the reporter to refuse, and they approach the director's table together.

Natasha smiles holds out a hand, Steve takes it and holds on for dear life. She pretends not to notice the trembling of his hand as she guides him onto the dance floor, next mission, cure Steve Rogers of chorophobia.

TBC…

Next Chapter – in which our heroes must face their fears, including, but not limited to:

Angrophobia - Fear of anger or of becoming angry

Atomosophobia- Fear of atomic explosions

Bolshephobia- Fear of Bolsheviks

Chorophobia- Fear of dancing

Ereuthrophobia- Fear of blushing.

Hygrophobia- Fear of liquids, dampness, or moisture.

Ichthyophobia- Fear of fish.

Kakorrhaphiophobia- Fear of failure or defeat.

Novercaphobia- Fear of your step-mother.

Philophobia- Fear of falling in love or being in love.

Scotomaphobia- Fear of blindness in visual field

Sesquipedalophobia- Fear of long words.

Somniphobia- Fear of sleep.

Suriphobia- Fear of mice.


End file.
